


Liquid Focus

by Witchtomez



Series: Yoosung week 2019 (NSFW) [4]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, He's trying so hard to function, Morning After, Sexual Humor, Tumblr: Yoosung Week, Vaginal Fingering, Yoosung is a sweet fool, implied couch sex, mc is vague oc, prompt: latte art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-06 07:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18846811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchtomez/pseuds/Witchtomez
Summary: He wasn't sure how he'd lucked into last night, but showing gratitude via fulfilling small promises by the next morning was vital....Breakfast wasn't supposed to be this hard,yet...Yoosung is certain the gods are punishing him for overindulgence.





	Liquid Focus

    Yoosung had always tried to be very conscious of his desires; constantly reminding himself not to become too greedy. The idea of taking more than his first and only lover was willing to give was reprehensible.

    Having established that, he was now struggling _intensely_  with himself, forcing all of his mental energy on creating a perfect heart in the latte he was crafting—and  _not_  on the memories of last night, nor on the fact that that the world’s most perfect woman slept peacefully partially  _because of_  and not in spite of him.

     …Very possibly naked, depending on whether or not she shifted the covers he’d laid over her before going to her kitchen.

 

_‘No—No! Yoosung Kim! You cannot obsess over this. You were fortunate enough to have that experience last night! Twice even! Be grateful and put your attention back on her!’_

 

     And he did—his mind happily supplied him with the visage of his precious girl and every cherished expression she made for him; the tone of her voice as it soothed him through any mood or piqued his interest with her playful timbre, the funny little mannerisms he quietly logged in his mind when she thought he hadn’t noticed.

    A goofy smile took hold of his face. Looking down into the cup, he had managed to make a decent polishing with the espresso. Now to just get the temperature of the milk right…

     Wiping down the espresso machine, he smiled and set to angling the small pitcher of milk under the steam wand, hoping to keep the loud hissing to a minimum until he submerged the tip to the proper depth.

     The initial cloud of vapor wafted past his glasses and set off another non-conducive memory of how last night got started…

     He really didn’t think he’d said anything particularly impressive—only answered honestly when the survey people in the shopping district had asked him what requirements he kept in mind when deciding gifts for his wife.

     Yoosung actually thought he’d made a mistake in not correcting the questionnaire handlers first in that he was not yet married, but…surely you didn’t have to be married to understand that you should first make sure the gift will make her happy and not cause her harm, right? After all, why would a woman marry a man who doesn’t remember anything she likes or what she could be allergic to? That was just common sense, wasn’t it?

     Regardless, the workers had seemed impressed with his answers and thanked them for their time...and then Yoosung had been almost dragged to her home. He was sure he’d have to practice his best apology, but once the front door had shut behind them, his jacket was being tugged off as soon as he’d removed his shoes and then he was being pushed back gently over the nearest chaise…

      After pleasantly drowning in the smooth softness of her lips, hands and anything else he’d felt brave enough to touch at the time, there was a break for oxygen; by then he was fairly certain his apology would be unnecessary and he simply chose to enjoy the sight of his love leaning over him as she tried to catch her breath.  However, when her breathing simply became more ragged, Yoosung had leaned back up, brushing her hair aside in concern.

“What’s wrong, honey? If you’re cold, I can go fill the bathtu—?”

     He’d been cut off as she pressed him to her lips and forcefully pulled them both to standing position, steering them toward her bedroom as carefully as possible without actually looking. By the time they’d crossed the threshold, Yoosung felt almost drunk as his hands wandered her beautiful frame with what he considered to be reckless bravery.

     It had occurred to him at some point to find his voice and determine just how far this would go, but as he glimpsed her inviting smile through his smudged glasses, Yoosung knew he would go wherever she led him. If that meant ditching his carefully selected outfit on the floor while helping her out of her own, Yoosung was more than happy to comply while protecting her exposed flesh from the chill with heated whispers...and languid stroking of his hands...or tongue, whichever would produce  _that sound aga–!_

 

     The smell of curdling milk brought him back to the present and Yoosung nearly dropped the metal pitcher of overheated liquid in the sink as he rushed to put his hand under a cooling stream of water.

 

     Fishing for a towel to pat his wound dry, he pointedly glared at another part of his anatomy that could have used cooling down at that moment.  Now was not the time to develop weak focus! There was no way he could graduate early if he couldn’t stop fixating on what was admittedly one of the most amazing nights of his entire life but—what would that matter if he couldn’t graduate and earn enough money to marry her?!

     Starting over with the milk, he finally got enough microfoam to produce the smooth, silky texture required to create the design—he’d promised her early on that he could and would do this for her someday, and this morning was an ideal time until he figured out how else to show his gratitude. Swirling the espresso in the rounded mug, Yoosung smiled when the creamy shapes bloomed against the dark liquid and gave him the desired fullness before he drew the line to a perfect point.

    Satisfied, he set the mug down on the counter and rinsed the milk pitcher before setting it in the sink for proper cleaning later. With the delicate task completed, Yoosung thought to get a decent breakfast ready—which meant it was time for vegetables to be chopped!

     He hopped to the fridge and began placing produce in a strainer for washing, which settled him back into a comfortable routine; his body fell into the familiar auto-pilot: scrub the produce, shake the excess water and line up the cutting board with the smallest veggies first, pull down dishes to hold the stuff that gets thrown in at different times to cook and then turn and grab the knife from the drawer and make sure to close it—!

 

     His hip had bumped the drawer rather harshly before he remembered the mug sitting atop the counter. Dropping the knife, he leapt back toward the mug, staring intensely as if willing the design to hold…to his great relief, his efforts weren’t wasted but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was taunting him.

 

    The easiest way to pour the heart pattern was generally to draw the point away from you—which meant the proper perspective was shown to the recipient of the drink.

    But for Yoosung, who had been the barista, the rhythmic trembling of the upside-down heart from his viewpoint only drew up an incredibly recent and revered memory of other full, creamy shapes bouncing in front of his eyes.

    Leaning his head back to glare at the ceiling, Yoosung tried counting backwards from 10, 20…100…

     

_'...Damn it, why am I this weak?'_  

 

     His mind was already back in her bed, and his hands were cupping the smooth flesh; caressing, lifting and squeezing while one hand traced lower and lower, to the most daunting subject that Yoosung had never been more eager to study. Taking his cues from her breathing and the smiles gifted to him through bitten lips, he made sure his nails had no sharp corners and tentatively slid his middle finger between the swollen labia.

     For the first moment, he had poured all his willpower into not getting overwhelmed by the sheer amount of slickness dripping into his palm, forcing his attention to the different structures hidden within the folds. He only withdrew at her yelp, gaze lingering on the movement of her breasts as she shuddered—but her face told him that while she was enduring something, it didn’t appear to be pain. Her grip, surprisingly strong on his shoulder as she leaned over him for support, didn’t shock him as much as when her other hand released him and joined his as a guide…

     As determined as he had been to burn the details in to memory, Yoosung could only recall a few tactile particulars before the rest were blurred into the mesmerizing trance of the erratic rhythm of her tits moving in time with her poorly stifled cries. 

     Dropping his forehead to the counter, Yoosung folded an arm around his head and groaned; did he really deserve another chance at familiarizing himself with her precious body at this rate? He’d gotten lucky just  _once_  (technically twice…) and breakfast was now becoming an ordeal!   

 

“I thought I would be the sore one—are you ok?”

      Snapping his eyes up, she withdrew her fingers from his fluffy bed-head and hid a yawn behind her hand; smiling fondly at him from behind the counter.

“O-oh, I’m ok—sorry, did I wake you?”

      She shook her head, stretching until she took note of the still warm latte with a soft grin. Taking a sip, she slowly made her way around the counter and Yoosung felt something between joy and despair as a brand new staggering weakness made itself known to him:

     He thought there had been no greater beauty than her nude form in all its scarred glory.

     Yoosung wasn’t prepared to face that force, now accented by his own clothing. It didn’t fit her in the slightest and he had never seen anything better, even when both of his eyes worked.

     Draining half of the beverage, she laid it back on the counter and tugged him back up. Tasting the muted bitterness on her tongue, it would have to do as sustenance for now as the couch beckoned them like fighters to an arena.

     He couldn’t find it in him to care about the break from his usual morning routine.

 

     It was just as well; they’d meant to try the concept of brunch at some point anyway.


End file.
